Mia started school two days ago. So far, the transition has been disappointingly seamless. “Disappointingly” because I was worried she wouldn’t want to leave my side; in fact, she’s already bugging me to let her ride the bus to school.
She’s four.
I promised her she’d have a chance to ride the bus “soon.” I’m certain that, when I pick her up today, and we walk past the row of tiny blue vans that shuttle kids to and from Zug and Baar and Zurich and Menzingen and Aegeri, she’ll ask again. And I’ll promise again. And one of these days, we’ll have to look into it and let her go. But still. Did I mention she’s four?
Her teacher is Mrs. Hamilton, from Scottland. I’m hoping that Mia will come back to California sounding like Groundskeeper Willie.
Like Mrs. Hamilton, the school is international (thus the name: International School of Zug), with kids from every continent, though about 60 percent are apparently British. On our way in on Tuesday, the boy in front of us was chattering with his brother in a twee English accent. I never thought I’d see the day when I sent my kids to an English boarding school.
From what we can tell, ISOZ is fantastic. It’s housed in a 350-year-old nunnery, though they must shoo the nuns out before class every day, because I never see them. There’s tons of music and arts education, and outside, next to the play area, there are a bunch of cows, which Max loves, of course. The first day we visited, Max was so entranced by one of the big mooers that he wandered over and touched the fence that keeps the kids from escaping (or the cows from eating the kids, I don’t know). The fence gave him a mild electric shock, and now he’s afraid of fences, though he’s still not afraid of the cows. Which, I guess, means that the fence has served its purpose.
